Did he think that Malfoy was goi of Azkaban okay ahrhth year in peae ahing’s goi and everyone’s going to finally be happy?
Or maybe, maybe he’s rying beause he hado prevent.
&onks. Fred. Snape. Dumbledore. Cedri. Sirius. God, Sirius.
And now Drao Malfoy losing his mind in Azkaban.
He should have beeo preve, right?
The war’s over. Why are those around him still suffering?
&ired.
&ired trying to avoid the press, trying to avoid the Ministry, trying to avoid the Burrow and the Weasleys’ i he’s family hough he’s not, not really, and he feels like aheir grief when they see him aend that they’re not m a son, a brother.
&rying to avoid himself most of all, beause he’s spent nights alone in Grimmauld Pe as were long nights, strething impossibly further, as dark as a forest (dark as death), as quiet as the afterlife (like white he afterlife’s not that peaeful after all), with eah tik of the lok ehh the walls and ountihat he lost.
But seeing Drao Malfoy like that reminds him, fores him to see that avoiding the problem doesn’t really fix it, ki bigger aing, ahe war’s over, but that does everything’s okay.
Everyoill sufferiill suffering a yet done losier all.
He ma himself off the floor and towards the firepe ier room, takiy to Floo himself bak to Grimmauld Pe.
& is still long and it is still dark and the house is still quiet, unbearably so, so he loks himself in his room a emerge until Ron’s knoking on his door the day.
&he lok tells him it’s past lunh time.
Duri, exhausted and eyes swollen after rying so muh, he had someho, and for this, he is grateful. He doesn’t know how he ould have survived that whole night awake.
“Harry,” omes Rohe other side of the door, and it’s soft and areful, and Harry knows at o Ron khing.
“I’m up,” Harry says, v. He swallows the dryness down his throat, aries again. “I’m up.”
“Mum sent you food. Have you eate?”
He has a headahe, but he fores himself out of bed ahinks he looks awful, his fae feels stiky, but there’s no point hiding it. Not from Ron, anyway.
Aired to even summoo look for his wand.
&he door, lets Ron see.
Ron’s sharp ih onfirms that he does look awful. “Mate.”
Harry rubs his fae with his hands, rubs the stikihe dried tears off and onto his fingers. His eyes hurt. “That bad?”
“You look like Gilderoy Lokhart.”
Harry snorts. “That bad, then.”
&urning around and lying bak down on his bed. His head’s throbbing. “How did you know?”
“Malfoy’s mum sent my mum an Owl. Said she’s worried about you.”
“That’s…awfully friendly.”
“I know. Mum ould first yesterday, kept sayihat Mrs. Malfoy’s probably phing, but Merlin, Harry, I think mum’s pnnio send over. Blueberry pies. It sounds ridiulous, but I think w about you is making them loser.”
“That’s…Well, that’s good. I think.”
Ro Harry’s fae, bef o of the bed. “So. Malfoy’s bak, huh?”
Harry realls the image of Malfoy sobbing in his wheelhair and keeps his eyes firmly on the eiling. “Yeah.”
“How is he?”
“Not good.”
“Mustn’t be, if you’re like this.”
Harry keeps quiet. Ron knows him best. Knows his obsession with Malfoy best, beause he was the one who was so against it that he had th the pr to uand it. Harry doesn’t know what Rohe end of that proess, but Ron must have ohing for him to be so alm about it now.
Or maybe it’s beause of the war.
&hem are both quieter rospetive. It’s more obvious in Ron, who’s usually the first to blive in to his more explosive emotions. They’ve fought over so many things durihat any differenes noortao fight over anymore.
Ron looks at him. “He is the reasohis, right?”